Turning his head, he pressed a single light kiss to the inside of her palm where her hand was resting near his pillow. The stubble on his jaw grated against her skin in the most heavenly way, leaving a wavering sensation in its absence. He smiled when he saw her watching him, his scar making his bottom lip curve slightly lopsided in a way that was beginning to make her melt. She began to reconsider her favorite part of his body—no, not his arms; that imperfect mouth of his just took its place.
Reaching out, she ran her thumb across the scar and he pressed his lips together and kissed it.
“Hey,” he said cheekily, the roughness of his voice leaving behind the same pleasant sensation on her skin that his scruffy jaw had. “Why are you awake?”
“Honestly? Because you were in my bed.”
His brows danced across his forehead. “I’m capable of distracting you even as you sleep? I’d say that’s damn good talent, wouldn’t you?” he teased.
She rolled her eyes. “If you were distracting me, yes. But I’m just not used to having someone in my bed. Like I said, I don’t participate in sleepovers. And that includes hosting them.”
“Not so bad, right? I’ve been told I’m a great cuddler.”
“I wouldn’t know—you were too busy stealing my covers.”
Parting his mouth, he laughed once, a low, arrogant chuckle. Then he hooked his arm around her waist and pulled her naked body to his.
“How about now—good?”
The feeling of his arms around her deserved a more adequate word than “good.” Good felt mediocre, subpar—just . . . good. But the contact of his skin and the strength of his arms followed by the heat from his body—that was better than good. She just couldn’t come up with a word that expressed it any better at the moment.
She returned his smile. “Yes,” she answered, then rested her head next to his on the pillow, their mouths breathing the same breath of air. “So, tell me the story behind this beauty.” Lifting her finger back to his lip, she traced his scar again.
He readjusted and pulled Fallon tighter against him. “That’s my very first battle scar.” He winked, attempting to lighten the mood. “It was my first deployment. May 2004.”
“Deployment?” she asked, and he laughed.
“Yes, gorgeous. You’ve crawled in bed with a soldier.”
She was aware how little she knew about him; it hadn’t occurred to her how much he’d surprise her. She’d never have pictured him as a soldier. Tattoo artist, MMA fighter, president of some deathly motorcycle club—sure. All-American soldier serving his country—that she didn’t see coming. But now that she knew, she could see it. His determination, his strength, his concern, his protectiveness— he depicted the ideal qualities of a soldier. And his physical attributes were an added bonus. Oh, and the uniform . . . She’d like to see him in the uniform . . .
“Does that surprise you?” he asked.
Her mouth curled at the image she’d conjured in her mind. “Yeah. But it fits you.”
His grin morphed into a wry tilt and she assumed he had an idea what she was thinking.
“The first time I deployed, I was part of Bravo Company, 20th Engineers, 1st Cavalry Division out of Fort Hood, Texas. I was young, fresh to the army, and eager to get in on the action. My unit was part of the forces assigned to the Iraqi government to take down the power of the insurgent Mahdi Army in Sadr City. It was one of the most intense missions out of all my deployments.” He cleared his throat and shifted his eyes to the ceiling before returning them to her, his memory working. Tension crawled through his muscles beneath her as he continued to hold her against him. She held her breath, waiting for him to release it, but he never did. It only grew, tightening his jaw, laboring his breath.
“It was early in the morning and we were out on Route Predator doing a presence patrol after a recent firefight with Mahdi rebels. Fucking ball-bearing IED went off thirty feet from where my squad and I were standing. And I only walked away with this scar.”
“Only?”
He nodded. “The rest of them weren’t so lucky. I at least had my life.” He paused as if he was allowing the memory to silently sift through his thoughts before he continued. “This baby”—he lifted his arm above his head, exposing his rib cage to her—“I got only a few months ago while in Afghanistan. Fucking ambush on two of my unit’s combat vehicles that ended in a lot of blood.”
Straining his neck to the side, trying to work through the tightness, he ended his explanation. He wanted to keep that part of him locked away. She respected that. Some things in your past you just don’t want to talk about. Talking about them is like admitting that they really happened. Of confirming your pain.